


Do Not Go Gentle

by Glare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Glare Has No Self-Control, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sith Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is only six months into his Jedi training when he goes missing on a mission, bringing his Master’s life crashing down. Unable to recover from the loss, Alpha Obi-Wan Kenobi grieves his Padawan’s uncertain fate, unaware that his life would once again be turned on end with the arrival of an Omega Sith Lord to the Temple ten years later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How Many Fanfiction is too many?
> 
> I posted this prompt on tumblr a couple days ago under the illusion I wouldn't fill it myself yet, and then... I did.

**And I'd kill just to watch as you're sleeping**

**I hope that you will let me, in time**

**You don't have to call me yours, my love**

**But damn it, I'm calling you mine**

* * *

 

When he closes his eyes, Obi-Wan can still picture everything as clearly as if it only happened yesterday. He can hear the murmurs of the crowd as they pass, going about on their day to day business, and the gurgle of the fountain. He can smell its wetness on a warm summer day, mingled and mixed with the almost milky scent of youth that lingers around his young charge. He can feel Anakin’s weight on his back, his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck as they weave their way through the busy streets. He’d wanted to be high—as high as Obi-Wan could get him, anyways—in order to better take in the sights of a new and exciting culture.

They’d only been partnered together six months. Six months spent within the confines of the Temple’s walls, only daring stray as far as the gardens and the yards while Anakin adjusted to the new rigors of Jedi life.  The transition hadn’t been easy for either of them, but they were slowly taking steps in the right direction. Considering Anakin’s history as a slave, Obi-Wan considered any progress at all great leaps. There was trust to be established—loyalty to be earned. Nothing comes free to a slave, and Obi-Wan knew that in those first few weeks, Anakin was waiting for the day the bill came due. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince him otherwise; to prove that nothing he could say or do would make Obi-Wan turn him away. He had made a promise to his Master to raise the boy, and raise him he would.

When they were called to the Council Chamber for their first assignment off-world, Obi-Wan had protested mightily. There was progress being made, yes, but they weren’t ready for the stressors that the rest of the galaxy can bring. The Training Bond between them was there, was strong for its age due to the events of Naboo and their unusual circumstances, but not strong enough for Obi-Wan’s comfort. If he’d gotten his way, they would have waited. If he’d gotten his way, they would have remained in the safety of the Temple until that delicate tie between them had hardened into a durasteel chain.

The thing about the Jedi Council, however, is that they very rarely care for the opinions of young Knights, Sith-Killers or not. Once they have made a decision, there is very little that can move them from their position. So Obi-Wan’s protests had fallen on deaf ears, and he and his very young Padawan had been packed away on the first available transport to a supposedly unimportant world in a supposedly unimportant system to play mediator between two opposing factions in a supposedly unimportant civil war.

They stop at the edge of the fountain, Obi-Wan allowing Anakin to slide from his back and swirl hesitant, but curious fingers in its flow. He still marvels at the amount of water that the rest of the galaxy holds, from the showers in the Temple to decorative fountains like these. It’s always a pleasure to watch him, something curling warm and contented in his chest as a delighted smile blooms across the boy’s face.  
Still, despite the serenity of the moment, the gentle glow of life that seems to emanate from Anakin at every given moment, there is something putting Obi-Wan’s teeth on edge. He feels it in the Force—oppressive as a wet blanket. It feels too much those moments on Tatooine and Naboo before the emergence of the Sith for Obi-Wan’s comfort.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks. “Do you think you can remember where this fountain is?”

Anakin nods in the affirmative, scooping a palm full of water and watching it trickle down his hand and back into the fountain’s basin.

Obi-Wan echoes it with a nod of his own. “While this is supposed to be a strictly diplomatic mission, sometimes things happen in the field that we aren’t expecting—”

“—Like Master Jinn and the Sith?” Anakin asks, terribly clever.

Obi-Wan feels his heart clench at the mention of his lost Master. “Yes, Anakin, like the Sith. So if something were to happen, if we were to get separated at any point during this mission, I would like you to come back to this fountain and wait for me. Do you understand? No matter what happens, I will come back for you. I will find you.”

“Yes, Master,” the boy replies, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes, his tone taking on the same hard edge as his Master’s. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Anakin is far more experienced in the ways of the world than his peers. At least, in things like this—in survival. His round, innocent face and baggy Jedi robes (years of malnourishment still to be corrected) are a misleading mask for the trouble and experience earned in his short years. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathes, reaching out to tussle the boy’s Padawan cut. “Good,” he repeats, when Anakin returns his attention to the fountain. There is something in the air that he can’t seem to shake—an unease that raises the hair on the back of his neck.

The chronometer on his wrist mount flashes, informing him that the time of their meeting with the factions is approaching, and Obi-Wan is forced to pull Anakin away from the object of his fascination. They stroll side by side down the busy streets, Anakin’s small hand in his, as the Padawan asks questions about the culture and the architecture and the various alien species that are still new to him. Obi-Wan does his best to answer, and for a moment almost forgets the stifling pressure in the air.

Until the first explosion goes off, leveling houses along the left side of the street. Rubble comes crashing down, sending the foot traffic scattering in a cacophony of shrieks and screams. Only a moment after the first, barely enough time for Obi-Wan to regain his bearings, a second explosion rips through the block on the other side of the street.

It seems one faction of the government has taken peaceful negotiations off the table.

Jostled by falling debris and the fleeing crowd, Anakin’s hand is yanked from Obi-Wan’s hold. He fumbles for it, calls out to the boy, but it’s no use. He’s already been pulled with the flow of civilians well beyond Obi-Wan’s reach.

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan catches movement along the rooftops nearest the blast: the bombers. Suddenly, he is faced with an agonizing choice.

Jedi vows compel him to go after the bombers. It is his duty to protect the people of this city from further harm at their hands, and if he goes now, he can catch them. Maybe even be able to salvage these negotiations by convincing the rest of their faction to write them off as extremists and bring peace to this planet. On the other hand, instinct ingrained into his very genetic code is pushing, urging, screaming for him to abandon the bombers for now and seek out his wayward Padawan. The air is thick with fear and blood and Obi-Wan almost cedes. But a Jedi is above instinct, and he has Anakin’s word to wait for him.

He makes a decision.

Despite his speed in giving chase, the bombers manage to lose him in the chaos of the crowd. Dust from debris and the acrid tang of blood and fear coat his nose and mouth, making more primitive methods of tracking them impossible. With no other options, he is forced to abandon the chase.

While there is a bitter disappointment that comes with not catching his quarry, Obi-Wan is a little relieved. To apprehend them would have meant dealing with the local authorities, delaying his return to where his wayward pupil awaits. Darkness still hangs uncomfortably in the air, curled around his chest and squeezing, and he is eager to have Anakin back within arm’s reach.

Striding through the damaged streets towards their meeting place, Obi-Wan takes in the ruin. It seems odd to him that the factions would request a Judi negotiator only to level several blocks with explosives mere hours before peace talks began. What’s more, the bombers didn’t seem to belong to species that regularly made their homes in this area. Perhaps one of the factions had hired a small crew of Bounty Hunters to do their dirty work? But where would they have gotten the credits for such an exploit? According to the briefing packet Obi-Wan received, the only reason peace was on the table was because the economy had begun to struggle in the wake of the governmental upset, making it difficult for either faction to raise the funds they need to continue to fight…

It is a curious dilemma, which is struck from his mind when he enters the small square containing his and Anakin’s meeting place. The fountain had not fared well in the attack, a large piece of rubble sent flying by the force of the explosions having made its residence upon it. The great spire that one stood in the fountain’s center has fallen, its basin cracked and crumbling. Water pours from from it, spilling out onto the cobblestone streets and trickling away in a slow, steady stream. More importantly, however–Most importantly–Anakin is nowhere to be seen.

Obi-Wan does not allow himself to panic. Not at first, anyways. He circles the structure, making sure he hasn’t missed the boy among the rubble, and deems him absent once again. Perhaps, Obi-Wan thinks, he is only lost. Perhaps he had overlooked the landmark, what with all the damage it took in the blasts. Anakin is a resourceful child, and quite stubborn once he sets himself to a task. If he is lost, he will find a way here eventually. He will not rest until he does so. With that in mind, Obi-Wan settles on the ground, leaning back against a dry, undamaged section of the basin. Best to wait. Anakin will come.

Yet as an hour passes, then two, then three, there has been no sign of his boy. Even though a Jedi is taught to fear, Obi-Wan can feel its beginnings bubbling up in his chest. Anakin is a resourceful child, yes, but still a child. Still a child on a strange planet so very far from his home; still a child in the middle of an active war zone.

Obi-Wan should never have left him alone.

The thought has him on his feet, pacing the borders of the square. There are several small streets leading off it, and Obi-Wan finds himself hesitating as he passes each one. He wants to walk down them, to search for the boy, but he’d promised to be here. What if Anakin returned and found no Obi-Wan waiting for him? But what if Anakin was out there, lost and alone or trapped and scared by the destruction that has been brought upon the town? He can’t seem to make up his mind on the matter, leaving him pacing the square until several more hours have past and exhaustion forces him to still.

Retaking his position against the fountain, Obi-Wan considers going back to his ship. Night is beginning to fall; it wouldn’t do to leave himself exposed to the elements. But he couldn’t condemn his student to a night in the cold, either. If Anakin returns during the night, he wants to be able to ferry the boy to shelter as soon as possible. Obi-Wan can’t leave, he can’t, so he prepares himself for the long night ahead.

But Anakin does not come in the night, nor does he arrive the following morning. By the afternoon, Obi-Wan has given up on waiting, convinced that something must be holding up his pupil’s return. He wander through the streets, stopping civilians to ask if they’ve seen a boy—about this high, blond hair, wearing Jedi attire—anywhere in their repair efforts. They all tell him no. He wants to scream.

From the Force, he feels nothing. The Training Bond he shares with Anakin was not strong enough to handle such extended separation. It feels like something had pulled the string until it snapped, its frayed edges floating aimlessly in the currents of the Force. Obi-Wan had told the Council that they weren’t ready. They needed more time to grow, to connect. They needed to be able to use that Bond the way it was meant–to be able to sense the other partner. If they’d had a proper Bond, he would have found Anakin by now.

He’d told the Council they weren’t ready.

The second day of his search yields nothing, not the third, nor the fourth. The comm link on his wrist chimes incessantly, but he pays it no attention. He doesn’t care to speak with the Council at the moment, he tells himself every time he silences the chirping device; he will call them back later. Except that he never does, and four days turns to two weeks and Anakin still hasn’t been located.

Obi-Wan can’t remember the last time he really slept, the last real meal he ate. Before they left the Temple, he supposes. With Anakin. His time is split between actively searching for the boy and aiding in the clean-up effort if only out of some sick hope that they’ll find Anakin’s body amongst the rubble. It would not be the ending he hoped for, but it would be closure. Better to know for certain than this endless uncertainty. The people of the town pay him no heed; they have their own problems to handle.

By the end of the third week, a new ship arrives at the spaceport. Obi-Wan hears of it through the conversations of the citizens passing his position at the newly-repaired fountain, but does not bother to investigate. These days, he rarely leaves his vigil. Children come and go, occasionally bringing him treats and asking after a story. Obi-Wan obliges, if only to pass the time until Anakin arrives.

The Council’s emissaries find him there, curled against the cool stone. Sunken-eyed and shaggy, still in the soiled robes he’d been wearing that first day. They’d taken one look at him and known.

When Obi-Wan closes his eyes, it feels just like yesterday. But it wasn’t. Years now stretch between the day he lost his young pupil and this moment, curled beneath the blankets of Anakin’s cot. The boy’s scent has long since faded from the fabric, replaced by his own Alpha musk, but Obi-Wan imagines he can still smell it when he buries his face into the mattress. His wayward apprentice.

Outside the room, in the sitting area of the apartment the Council had never convinced him to move out of, his comm link chimes.


	2. Chapter 2

The energy it takes to haul himself from Anakin’s bed feels highly disproportionate to how little the activity actually involves. Having done so, however, Obi-Wan reasons that he might as well answer his incessantly ringing comm link. Ignoring it hadn’t worked so far; whoever was attempting to contact him was being quite stubborn about making sure they actually reached him. The only Jedi who are insistent enough to get a hold of him are members of the Council and the small collection of friends he’s managed to keep over the years. Either way, they will continue to call him until he’s eventually forced to answer, if only to quiet the incessant chirping of the comm device and return to wallowing in his misery in silence.

He snatches the comm from the table, raising it to his lips and answering with a curt, “Kenobi here.”

“Obi-Wan?” The voice on the other end of the line whispers, tense and quick. He recognizes the speaker: Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Padawan. She is not Obi-Wan’s student–he has not allowed himself to take another since Anakin–but rather the pupil of Plo Koon. Koon is among the few Jedi in the Order that Obi-Wan can still tolerate, with his young, torgruta student falling into the same category. Intelligent, compassionate, fearless. If Obi-Wan ever could bring himself to train another pupil, he would want one rather like Tano. “Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?”

As far as Obi-Wan is aware, Koon and Tano are in the Temple this week while the latter catches up on her studies. She’d fallen behind when their last mission ran long, the negotiations they were overseeing delayed by the usual humming and hawing of governmental officials, and they’d been consequently grounded upon their return. The Coruscant Temple is meant to be a sanctuary for its people; there is nothing that should be causing the genuine terror he hears in her voice.

She launches into an explanation, but is speaking so fast and in such a hushed tone that Obi-Wan can only understand every fourth word. That’s hardly enough to figure out what has set the Padawan on edge.

“Ahsoka,” he says, interrupting her rant. The tone he adopts is harsher—commanding. Alpha. “Ahsoka, I need you to slow down and tell me what’s happening. I can’t understand you when you’re speaking so fast.”

“There’s a Sith in the Temple!” She squawks, louder than she probably intended, because her voice drops back to a hush when she continues. “There’s a Sith Lord in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. No one knows how he got in–he was just sitting in there when they found him! The Council didn’t want you to know, but they haven’t been able to subdue him and Master Plo told me to go hide and call you.”

Obi-Wan is already on the move, had been from the moment Ahsoka said ‘Sith’. Calling his lightsaber to his palm from a table by the door as he throws it open, he sweeps out into the hall with determination. Sure enough, the emergency lights are flashing, younger Jedi are running for shelter in their respective quarters. He can’t help but wonder how he hadn’t noticed the chaos sooner. “Where are you, dear?” He asks the frightened Padawan.

“In a classroom a little ways away. There were younglings meditating by the Fountains–we’re all hiding in here!”

“Ok. Ahsoka, I want you look outside the door, and if you think it’s safe to move, I want you to take the initiates back to the crèche as quickly as possible. Can you do that for me?”

She heaves a breath into the comm, clearly trying to settle her nerves. “Ok,” she says. “Ok. I can do that.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitch into a grin despite the seriousness of the situation. Ahsoka is a strong girl; she will be a gifted Jedi one day. “Thank you. I’m on my way.”

It’s odd, Obi-Wan thinks as he hangs up the comm, that the Council didn’t reach out to him. As the only member of the Order who’s actually engaged and defeated a Sith Lord, he seems like the obvious choice for who to call when another one somehow manages to barge his way into the Temple. And yet, as he passes through the steady flow of Jedi headed away from the scene, their confusion and fear-scents clogging his nose and mouth, Obi-Wan thinks he can understand why they hadn’t. These last years, he’s been a loose cannon: unpredictable, uncontrollable. Would they really bet the safety of so many Jedi on a wild card?

He passes Ahsoka as he approaches the Fountains, offers her a small wave and sees the relief on her face. She has faith in him; Plo Koon has faith in him, even after all these years. That faith deserves to be rewarded. He will not back down here.

Rounding the final turn into the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Obi-Wan stops just inside the doorway to take in the scene before him. It won’t do anyone any good if he charges in blindly, potentially making things worse. Observe first, then move.

It has nothing to do with the way the gurgle of the fountains drags up memories he can’t seem to avoid, waking or in sleep. It has nothing to do with having not stepped foot in this room in years. No. He is observing—that’s all.

The Sith stands near the center of the hall, surrounded by the many beautiful water fountains crammed into the appropriately titled room. Young, human male, with short-cropped blond hair and sickly yellow eyes that flicker and burn almost as dangerously as the blood-red weapon in his palm. Obi-Wan can’t scent him from here to determine his dynamic, the scents of the Council members blocking out the Sith’s. Alien species may not have the same dynamic system as humans, but they still gave off distinct scents to a nose as sensitive as an Alpha’s.

The Council stands between the Sith and the doorway, 'sabers raised in challenge as they attempt to herd their opponent back into a corner of the room and prevent him from escaping. Even from here, Obi-Wan can see their exhaustion. He does not know how long they’d been fighting this Sith before Koon asked Tano to call him, but it’s a good thing he did. They don’t seem capable of lasting much longer.

Obi-Wan finally forces his muscles into action, jogging into the room in time to feel the Force draw up with power—swell like a forming tsunami. He plants his feet, throws up shields, and when all that power comes crashing around him, he feels it washing harmlessly around him. It’s a curious sensation, tugging at something in the back of his mind, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

The Council members are not so lucky. Already worn down by physical combat and without whatever key element has allowed Obi-Wan to stay on his feet, they are thrown backwards into walls and shallow pools by the strength of the Sith’s Force-Push. Twitching and defenseless on the ground, it falls to Obi-Wan to step between them and the Sith.

Those still conscious seem startled to see him—to hear the hiss of his lightsaber as it activates to meet the Sith’s first swing. He’s strong, preferring the aggressive Fifth Form in counterpoint to Obi-Wan’s Soresu.

This close, he can finally catch his first whiffs of the Sith’s scent. The sweet tone of it, more floral than anything, takes him by surprise. He had assumed a Sith would be an Alpha—more domineering and stereotypically powerful. But no, he must be an Omega, because Obi-Wan can smell something else he recognizes: an edge of almost vanilla associated with an Omega’s heat-scent. It clings to the Sith, faded enough that the Heat must have already passed but potent enough that it had to have been recent.

What’s more surprising is how the Sith reacts when Obi-Wan uses that knowledge to his advantage. It is not the Jedi way to manipulate another through their dynamic, but Obi-Wan is not above it when it comes to facing combat with a Sith Lord. He reaches out, pressing his strength and presence and scent toward the Sith, forcing him to acknowledge Obi-Wan’s position as an Alpha. It doesn’t always work—Bonded Omega, and Omega simply too strong-willed to be cowed by such a brutish display, are usually immune to the effects—but this one falters in his attack pattern.

He falters, and stumbles, and is suddenly doing a great more evading that he is attacking. The Sith steps back, and back, allowing Obi-Wan to drive him toward the back of the room and away from the fallen Council. Until he’s barely keeping up his defenses, focused more on Obi-Wan himself than the lit 'saber in his hand. It is when Obi-Wan nicks his thigh with the blade, drawing a pained whine from the Omega as he loses his footing and tumbles to the floor, that he realizes he might be able to end this without further violence. While he doesn’t have a problem with taking a life when necessary, there is something about this Sith that makes Obi-Wan think he isn’t quite as dangerous as the Dathomirian he faced on Naboo.

Obi-Wan stops his attack, staring down at the Sith as he struggles for the concentration to push himself upright. Eventually, however, he falls still except for his heaving chest and flaring nostrils as he greedily drinks in Obi-Wan’s scent. There is something behind his eyes that Obi-Wan can’t quite place, that has him from deactivating his saber and hooking it to his belt before crouching down to reach for the Sith’s.

The Omega growls unhappily when Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around the hilt of his red 'saber, somehow having managed to keep a hold of it when he fell, but a soft hush from the Alpha has him loosening his grip enough to pry the weapon from it. Obi-Wan hooks the 'saber next to his own, reaching out carefully with his other hand to brush against the Sith’s cheek. His eyes have taken on a glazed, distant appearance with the Alpha’s increased proximity, the mind behind them operating more on blind instinct than rational thought.

“There’s a good boy,” Obi-Wan murmurs, watching the Omega turn into his palm and nuzzle at the inside of his wrist. “Hello there, sweet thing.”

When the Sith pushes up and leans into Obi-Wan’s space, he doesn’t protest. The Omega is unarmed, hasn’t shown any signs of wielding the Force against him, and is clearly worn down by exhaustion and injury. The younger man tucks his head into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat, scenting him. He returns the gesture briefly, if only out of common courtesy. Obi-Wan can hear the moans and groans of the Council as they struggle to their feet, and he would rather avoid any further confrontation now that he has the Omega at least mostly settled.

Running a hand down the back of the Sith’s neck and shoulder, Obi-Wan is surprised to feel wetness and torn flesh. There is blood on his fingers when he raises them to eye-level, and tugging the back of the tunic down reveals a fresh Bond-mark imprinted in the flesh. Fresh enough that the fight had agitated it into bleeding again—fresh enough that there’s a chance that the Bond with whoever bit him won’t even take now that the Sith has spent so much time away from them.

Obi-Wan scowls, holding the Sith still with one hand while he prods at the bite with his already bloodied fingers, attempting to gauge its depth and severity. The Sith is quite young for a formal Bonding like this; if Obi-Wan had to guess, this might have even been his first heat. Those facts combined with his presence here at the Temple so soon after plants a suspicion in Obi-Wan’s mind that turns his stomach.

Lips move against the skin of his neck; the Sith is speaking. Obi-Wan has to turn adjust his grip on the boy to hear what he has to say. “I knew I’d find you,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. Exhaustion following heat and confrontation must finally be setting in. “I knew if I came here, you’d be waiting for me. I knew.”

“How did you know?” Obi-Wan asks.

“You promised. You promised that if I waited by the fountain, you’d find me.”

Obi-Wan feels as though his world has fallen out from under him anew as the Omega finally succumbs to unconsciousness, his full weight slumping into the Alpha’s grip. What he suspects, what the Sith implies, cannot be. Not now. Not after all this time. Not like this.

“Well, look at you, Kenobi,” Windu says, suddenly shattering the moment. Obi-Wan had been so focus on the Omega in his arms that he hadn’t even heard the Councilor approach. “Sith-Killer, and a Sith-Whisperer.”

“Yes, well, this one is in need of a fair bit of medical attention,” he replies, schooling his voice the best he possibly can and waving his bloodied hand for Windu to see.

“What he needs is a holding cell, before he hurts anybody else,” the Council retorts, reaching down as though intending to immediately drag the Sith there himself.

The ferocity of the snarl that rips loose from Obi-Wan throat is enough to startle the both of them. Windu’s hand snaps back, a confused expression on his face, and Obi-Wan has to forcibly unclench his fingers from the back of the Sith’s robes. “Medical attention first,” he demands, quickly losing control of his tone. Hysteria threatens to overwhelm him; this cannot be happening. “And then—and then a blood test. To confirm his identity.”

“You think you known who this is?” Windu asks.

Obi-Wan nods shakily, staring down at the Omega with an amalgamation of hope and dismay. “I—I think… I think this may be my Padawan.”


	3. Chapter 3

Obi-Wan paces the circumference of the bacta tank, his eyes greedily drinking in the figure incased within. Upon their arrival to the Halls of Healing, the Sith bundled in Obi-Wan's arms, the Healers had taken one look at the boy and decided it best he spend a few hours in a bacta tank. While Obi-Wan was not happy about being separated from him, he can't argue with the Healers' decision. The Sith has several injuries, both from combat and from before his arrival, that will heal cleaner in a tank than under a patch or on their own, especially with the additional hindrance of his recent Heat. At this point his body is burning through so much energy trying to bring itself back into balance that healing his sustained injuries has fallen to the wayside.

Healers hover around the room, checking readouts and marking charts. Obi-Wan can read their anxiety in their behavior and in the scents that linger in the air. They're anxious, stiff-shouldered and timid in his presence, as though he is a land mine and the wrong step will set him off. If he'd being honest with himself, he cannot blame them for their apprehension. In the past, he's been something of a nightmare to have in the medbay. He'd done nothing but fight that first week when the Council's emissaries dragged him back from his desperate search for his lost padawan. During his numerous escape attempts, he had accidentally wounded more than one Healer. It was never intentional—not a rational decision. Rather, his Alpha hindbrain panicking, driven by instinct to track down Anakin. Even though he isn't intending to do them harm, Obi-Wan knows that his behavior is reminiscent of that time. Agitated and unsettled, he bares teeth when one of them hovers by the tank too long. In the air, his pheromones are thick with warning. The alien of their number may not be able to scent it, but they can read the body language of their human counterparts. They are wary of pushing the wrong button and setting off an Alpha on the defensive.

Within the tank, Anakin is still. Small and frail and unmoving. An oxygen mask covers his face, several IV drips hooked into his arms. Sensors and leads cover his bare chest, the only thing covering him are his undergarments and the harness keeping him suspended in the viscous fluid. Anakin—yes, this is his Anakin, no matter how stubborn the council is about waiting for a blood test—appears to be wearing years of abuse on his skin. Scars, countless of them, stand out pale against the boy's naturally dark coloring. Some of them are obviously from burns or cuts, but others have been caused by things Obi-Wan cannot identify. His ribs, spine, and hips protrude sharply from below his skin, what weight Obi-Wan had managed to put on him during Anakin's time under his tutelage worn away by years of further malnutrition.

The most alarming change, however, is the boy's right arm. Or rather: the lack thereof. When he'd stripped Anakin to have him placed in the bacta, he'd peeled off the Omega's leather gloves to reveal that his right arm, from his fingertips up to his elbow, had been replaced by a golden prosthetic. While this at least, seemed to be of fair quality, that thing in Obi-Wan's chest that hasn't allowed him to stray more than twenty feet from the bacta tank had been horrified at this injury. It must have been traumatic, and thinking of Anakin trying to recover on his own (whoever kept him clearly hadn't cared much for his health) makes Obi-Wan want to sink his 'saber to the hilt into the culprit's chest, Jedi emotionalism be damned.

Alas, they are still well beyond his reach. Anakin had not regained consciousness between passing out in the room of a thousand fountains and his submergence in the bacta tank, leaving a great deal of questions in the air and a great many people impatient for their answers. A test of his blood, comparing the Omega's bioprint to the data on Anakin Skywalker taken upon his original arrival at the Temple, is already running. This is the only answer they will get before the boy is ready to be taken out of the tank. Even when he is cleared to leave, Obi-Wan suspects those conversations may need to be delayed until his student is ready to face them. If the condition he's in now is any indication, he hadn't been living in the same comforts that the Jedi temple could have provided.

Of course, Obi-Wan does not require a blood test to put his mind at ease about the boy’s identity. That moment at the fountain all those years ago had been a private one—something he'd never told anyone outside the Council about. No one but Anakin could possibly have known about their agreement. That boy in the tank is Anakin. His Anakin. His Anakin, returned to his side after ten years. The thought twists at that thing in his gut that doesn't care for the Jedi's strict opinion on attachment. For Anakin to come to him after all this time, to have faith that his Master would still be waiting, validates every decision he's made that isolated him from the rest of the Order. And while he might mourn for what the boy has gone through, might wish to bring ruin upon the parties responsible for his suffering, he is simply relieved for his return. Anakin is back where he belongs, and Obi-Wan will not allow any further harm to befall him.

"Kenobi," Windu's voice cuts through his thoughts, stilling his pacing to locate the Jedi Councilor. He's standing in the doorway, a stern look in his eye and a datapad in his hand. He must have gotten the blood work back. Obi-Wan pauses, waiting for Windu to approach until he realizes that the Master is waiting on him. The other Alpha wishes to have this discussion out in the hall, away from the Healers and the boy himself. He immediately knows that he isn't going to like the content of this conversation, and his Alpha instincts rail against letting the boy out of his sight again for even a moment, but Obi-Wan forces himself to step away from the bacta tank anyways.

He can practically hear the Healers' sighs of relief when they step out of the room.

Mace leads him down the hall a ways before stepping into a currently vacant patient's room, allowing the door to slide closed behind them and cutting them off from any wandering eyes. Obi-Wan props his hip against the edge of the empty bed, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up in challenge as he waits for Windu to begin. It's probably rude; he can't be bothered to care. The other Alpha has shown nothing but disdain for Obi-Wan's attachment to his lost padawan.

"The bioprint test just came back," Windu huffs. "You were right: it's Skywalker."

Obi-Wan smirks, resisting the urge to rub this victory in the other Alpha's face.

"You understand, Kenobi, that this is going to raise a whole lot of questions. Where has he been all this time? Who took him? Why did he only come to is now? And that's not even touching on the matter of his fall. He's clearly drawing on the Dark Side; the Council needs to know who taught him, if anyone did. It could lead us to the Sith Master we’ve been chasing."

"I'm sure Anakin will be happy to tell me what happened when he's out of the tank."

Ah, there it is, the furrow in Mace's brow. The other Alpha mirrors Obi-Wan's posture, and the younger knows this is about to get ugly; it’s the only reason why Windu would have decided to have this out in private. "The Council has decided that it may be for the best that you step away from this now, Kenobi." Obi-Wan scoffs, hardly believing the words coming out of the Councilor's mouth despite having suspected this would happen. "The Council has decided," he quotes, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. "Who are the Council to decide what is best for me and my Padawan?"

"Dammit Obi-Wan," Windu hisses. "You and I both know that you're attached to that boy. Everyone in the Temple knows. It's been ten years and you still refer to him as your Padawan. This—showing up after all these years, stinking of the Dark Side—is suspicious, and you're the only one who can't see it!"

"Do you really believe there's another option, Mace? Do you really believe that he'll talk to you if you separate him from me? Because if I recall correctly, the only thing you and the rest of the Council managed to do is get your asses handed to you."

"Obi-Wan—" The Councilor snarls, refusing to back down even when the Knight steps into his personal space. "This is not up for debate. The Council has already decided that Skywalker is to be moved until his motives can be—"

They're in each other's face, typical Alpha posturing, when the argument is interrupted by the sound of shattering transparisteel. A rush of power, Dark and strong and dangerous, draws Obi-Wan’s attention. It’s the same power he felt in the Room of a Thousand Fountains before the Sith Lord threw the Council across the room—the same power he felt bounce harmlessly against his mental shields. Anakin is awake.

Footsteps draw closer and a Healer's Apprentice bursts through the door. The twi’lek’s lekku with distress as he launches into his announcement without prompting. "It's Skywalker! He's—"

"Obi-Wan?" The Omega's panicked voice carries through the open door. "Master!?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t bother to finish the argument, turning on his heel and sweeping past Windu without another word (though he isn’t above clipping the other Alpha with his shoulder as he goes). If Anakin is awake, is drawing on his power like this, that it’s imperative that Obi-Wan reach him quickly. The boy is undoubtedly disoriented—any stay in a bacta tank will do that, even without the added hindrance of a recent heat)—and even the entire Council had not been capable of dealing with the frightened Omega on their own. The Healers are gifted Force-users, but their own powers pale in comparison to Anakin’s raw strength.

Sure enough, Anakin is out in the hall, hair dripping bacta, trailing wires and leads as he pads along on unsteady legs. He shivers violently against the chill that's set in due to his damp skin and underclothes, arms wrapped around himself in a weak attempt to keep warm. Several healers hover, unsure of how to approach despite their desire to render aid, and Anakin watches them with wide, wild eyes. Obi-Wan can pick up on his distressed scent even from here.

"Padawan," he calls, drawing the Omega's attention as he steps out into the hall. Anakin's head snaps around to locate him, the Healers forgotten as he watches Obi-Wan cautiously approach. "What are you doing out of the bacta tank?"

"I couldn't—" Anakin stammers, words seeming to elude him. "You weren't—" His confusion isn't altogether surprising. Heat-scent still lingers, and the Healers had warned that he may be disoriented for a time even after coming out of the tank. A first heat is always stressful on the body, and this premature emergence from the bacta certainly hasn't helped in that respect.

Obi-Wan sighs, stepping forward to stabilize the boy when he loses his balance and wobbles precariously. "You should be resting, Anakin," he gently chides, sliding off his cloak and wrapping it around Anakin’s trembling form before pulling him to his chest in attempt to fend off the chill. Anakin goes without complaint, leaning his weight into the Alpha and clinging to his tabards in a mirror of his behavior in the Room of a Thousand Fountains A contented purr rumbles in Anakin's chest; Obi-Wan has to stop himself from answering it with so many prying eyes.

"Would it be safe to bring him back to our rooms?" Obi-Wan asks a healer over Anakin's shoulder. "Or does he need to stay here?"

Despite the fact that another bacta soak would do him good, Anakin doesn’t seem particularly cooperative—especially if Obi-Wan is too far away. It may be more trouble than it’s worth to keep him here, and Obi-Wan is anxious to get the boy out of Windu’s reach.

“We would prefer he remain under observation, but if he keeps straining himself trying to get out, it may be just as well that he rests elsewhere…” the healer relents.

“In that case, we will be in our rooms should you need us,” Obi-Wan announces, bending down to scoop Anakin into his arms. The Omega is momentarily startled by the upset, but relaxes when he realizes that Obi-Wan isn’t going to drop him. He rests his head against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, watching with half-lidded eyes as they sweep down the hallway. Anakin is far too light for Obi-Wan’s liking, and he makes a mental note to get some solid food in him as soon as possible.

“Kenobi,” Windu warns as they pass, but Obi-Wan doesn’t even glance in his direction. The Councilor already has his opinion on the matter of separation, and Anakin needs to be attended to. A hearty meal, a warm bath, and sleep for now. They can discuss the matter of the Council’s questions later.


	4. Chapter 4

The smell of bacta hangs heavy in the warm air of the small ‘fresher, clinging to the inside of Obi-Wan’s nose and the damp underclothes that lay abandoned on the tiled floor. There isn’t an inch of him that’s managed to remain dry despite his best attempts at doing so, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and seated as far away from the basin as he can manage. Not that it matters really, as the bacta residue that clung to Anakin’s skin had already sunk into his tunics over the course of carrying the Omega back to their quarters. Anakin fidgets restlessly in the tub, splashing water over the lip as he shifts around. His pupil is probably a bit too old for baths like this, but he’d still been disoriented and unsteady on his feet by the time they’d returned to the room. Obi-Wan hadn’t trusted him not to hurt himself in the shower as he washed the bacta from his skin, so a bath it is.

“M’tired,” the Omega grumbles, swatting at Obi-Wan’s hands as he tries to scrub soap into Anakin’s hair. “Wanna go to sleep.”

“After you’re clean, we’ll sleep,” the Alpha assures, finally managing to get around the barrier of Anakin’s hands to work the lather against his scalp.

The unhappy growl it earns him is more endearing than threatening, as the younger man probably means it to be. It reminds Obi-Wan of the early weeks of Anakin’s apprenticeship, when each and every bath was met with fierce resistance. Water had been a luxury on desert worlds like Tatooine, and it had taken some time before the ingrained fear of wasting water had drained away into the awe he’d later have for just _how much_ water there is in the rest of the galaxy.

He doubts he’ll be able to get Anakin to eat. He’s clearly exhausted, the excitement of earlier once again catching up with him. Already his eyelids are fluttering with the effort to ward off sleep It’s a sour thought—Obi-Wan had been hoping to get a decent meal in the boy’s stomach tonight. At least, he thinks as he tilts Anakin’s head back, shielding the Omega’s eyes with his hand while he rinses the suds from his hair, his brief stint in the bacta tank seems to have done him good. The worst of his injuries are all but closed, leaving only thin, pale scars behind in memory. It still aggrieves him that Anakin bears those scars at all, but that doesn’t overpower the relief at knowing the boy is back with him. Somewhere safe, where he doesn’t have to worry about further adding to that collection.

“Can you tell me what happened, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks before he can help himself. He needs to understand; he needs to know who ruined the bright future this boy had in store.

For a moment, Anakin is perfectly still. “No,” he says quietly, and immediately flinches away, as though expecting to be struck. It nearly tears Obi-Wan’s heart out to know that this reaction has been ingrained from years of mistreatment.

“Ok,” he says, and leaves it at that, unwilling to further upset the boy despite the gnawing _need_ in his gut to know.

They finish the rest of the back quickly as Anakin’s exhaustion quickly becomes more evident. The remainder of the bacta is scrubbed to his skin, and Obi-Wan has to hold most of his weight when he pulls Anakin from the tub and towels him dry. He doesn’t have much for the younger man to wear, Anakin a taller than he is now, but he manages to scrounge up a pair of baggier sleep pants. He doesn’t have a shirt that will fit the boy, but the chill won’t be a problem. When Anakin was a new to the temple, Obi-Wan had fallen into the habit of keeping their quarters just a bit warmer than standard to accommodate him. Even after his disappearance, he hadn’t bothered to stop.

Clean, dried, and dressed enough, Obi-Wan begins steering his student toward bed. Anakin probably prefer to return to his own room, but Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s ready for that. The separation. Just the thought of having Anakin out of his sight is enough to put his teeth on edge. He hadn’t liked it when Mace had pulled him from the room in the Halls of Healing, and doesn’t like it now. While he doesn’t want to push boundaries if Anakin is uncomfortable with it, he would rather the Omega stay within arm’s reach. Just for tonight.

Fortunately, Anakin seems too exhausted to care when Obi-Wan tucks him beneath the blankets of his own bed, dozing while the Alpha changes into his own sleep pants and slips in next to him. He’s compliant as Obi-Wan pulls him close, offering only a dreamy, “You smell good,” when he’s finally situated to the elder’s liking, curled into the Alpha’s side. The skin-on-skin contact of Anakin's bare chest against his own is more grounding than anything Obi-Wan has experienced in the last ten years.

“Goodnight, Anakin,” he murmurs after a time, but the Omega has already drifted off.

* * *

 

The very first sign that something is amiss comes when Obi-Wan is startled awake, shoved roughly out of his spot on the bed as Anakin’s panicked yelp sounds through the room. He hits the floor hard, unable to catch himself in time to stop from knocking his head and can only lay there, dazed, as his pupil tumbles off the mattress after him. Anakin flails blindly in attempt to extract himself from the blankets that have become tangled around him, a panicked keening slipping past his lips as he does. Obi-Wan would try to help him, would try to figure out what suddenly brought on this behavior, if the world wasn’t still spinning before his eyes.

When he does manage to disentangle himself, Anakin leaps to his feet and backpedals to the center of the room. “No, no, no, no,” he can hear Anakin muttering, hands coming up to fist in his hair as he looks around with wide, frightened eyes. “Not again,” he desperately pleads to some unknown force. “Stars, please, not again.”

The scent of his distress is thick in the room, but the lingering scent of heat has all but dissipated. Obi-Wan knows that he needs to calm the boy before Anakin draws any more attention to them than his arrival already has. In the Force, he is a storm. Confusion, fear, despair, whirling around him in a torrent of Dark energy. The Alpha has no idea what set him off, but the figures it must be something to do with _him_ when attempts to right himself draw the Omega’s attention. He takes one look at Obi-Wan, makes another small, distressed noise, and bolts from the room.

Obi-Wan would probably be worried about where the boy had gotten to on another occasion. As it is, however, Anakin will not be able to get far without considerable effort, so he takes a moment to collect himself before he pushes himself to his feet and makes to follow.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan calls as he pads out into the main living area. “Anakin, what’s wrong?”

The Omega is clawing at the mountain of furniture barricading the front door when Obi-Wan finds him. It had been an impulsive decision when he’d done it before Anakin’s bath last night, and more about keeping any potential threats _out_ than keeping Anakin _in_ , but it seems to be serving its purpose well enough. His approach is once again forestalled when Anakin again flees his presence, this time into his old bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him.

Obi-Wan huffs unhappily, confused by the sudden turn of events and quite unhappy about it. Things had been going well, in his opinion, up until the point Anakin woke this morning. When he presses his ear to the door, he can hear the younger man pacing and muttering to himself. “It’s just a bad dream, it’s just a bad dream.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls through the door. “Sweetheart, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Go away!” He shouts back. Then, to himself, “It’s just a bad dream. It can’t hurt you; he’s _doing this to you_.”

His tone is fierce, the Dark swirling more violently around him, and Obi-Wan can’t allow the youth to keep this up. If he can’t keep Anakin calm, can’t control this wildness, the Council _will_ take the Omega from him. They’ve already threatened, and no barricade will keep them out if they really feel like removing the boy from Obi-Wan’s custody. “Anakin,” he tries, leaning against the cold metal of the door. “This is not a dream.”

“Don’t lie to me!” the boy yells.

“Look around—what do you see? What do you scent? How does it compare to your dreams?”

There’s silence in the room as the Omega ceases his pacing in order to take in in his surroundings. When he begins to speak again, his tones are softer. Less frazzled. “It looks like it looked when I was little, only dustier,” he says. “It smells—it smells like you.” A pause. “D-do you sleep in here?”

Obi-Wan feels his face flush, stuttering out a soft, “Sometimes, yes,” in answer to Anakin’s question.

“It always smells like me, in my dreams,” Anakin quietly admits.

“This isn’t a dream, padawan,” Obi-Wan assures. “You’re really here, at the Jedi Temple, with me. Now please, unlocked the door. I’d like to make sure you haven’t hurt yourself, if you’d let me.”

Silence again, except for the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching the door. Backwards, forwards, back again as Anakin tries to decide whether or not to let Obi-Wan in. The raging storm within the Force has calmed significantly, little more than pattering rainfall by the time Anakin finally flicks the lock open. He’s stumbling to the rear of the room when Obi-Wan cracks open the door, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he scrambles up onto the now too-small mattress and presses his back to the wall. As distressing as this situation is, the Omega finally behaving with something beyond unthinking compliance is an encouraging sign that he’s returning to himself. Anakin had only been compliant when it suited him as a child, questioning everything once he realized that he could safely do so.

Raising his hands, palms out in a calming gesture, Obi-Wan approaches. The progress is slow, stopping and allowing Anakin to adjust every time the Omega bares teeth and growls in warning. Anakin is studying him, he knows, comparing his behavior with the Obi-Wan of whatever horrible dreams have haunted him over the years. Obi-Wan is vaguely sick at the thought of being the monster in those nightmares.

“Your beard grew in,” Anakin notes, sounding skeptical, when Obi-Wan nears the edge of the mattress. “You never have a beard in my dreams.”

This doesn’t surprise him. When Anakin last saw him, his beard had been nothing more than new scruff, often victim to the mockery of the mockery of his more follicle-inclined peers. It’d taken him years to grow the damn thing in, even after Anakin’s disappearance. “It did.”

“… and you cut your hair.”

He’d been growing that out, too, when Anakin was young. It’d been something of a tradition for young Knights, finally freed from the short padawan cut. “I did.”

With a final narrowing of his eyes, Anakin reaches out and offers a hand to the Alpha. Obi-Wan takes it in his, allowing his pupil to pull him closer to bridge the last of the distance between them. He climbs up onto the mattress, kneeling before the Omega and allowing him to run curious fingers over the skin of his chest as though he is using the contact to ground himself in the present moment. In another context, the same touch might have been erotic. Not now, though. Now there is only concern, and a desire for Anakin to find there whatever it is he’s searching for in the map of new and old scars.

“I’m really here,” he finally murmurs, almost with awe as he traces a raised line along Obi-Wan’s hip.

“You are,” the Alpha echoes, and in the next moment finds himself with an armful of sobbing Omega. Anakin presses himself close, and Obi-Wan can’t help but be grateful that he’d thought to trim the boy’s nails last night as they scrabble for purchase against the skin of his back.

“Oh stars,” Anakin gasps, which quickly turns to a broken sob. His relief, his _joy_ is heavy in the Force, chasing away the last of the lingering Darkness as he presses his presence to Obi-Wan’s shields. “Oh kriff, I’m out; I’m free.”

Obi-Wan allows his shields to fall in cessation to the Omega’s unspoken request. Immediately Anakin’s Force presence floods his mind, nearly overwhelming him as it clings to his own. A ragged moan slips past his lips, and he has to grip Anakin hard to brace them both as their old, torn training bond reconnects in a rush of _powerpleasurepain_. “There you are,” he hears himself murmuring dazedly, holding Anakin close and curling a hand through his hair, “there’s my boy.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t help but think that if the Council wasn’t unhappy with him before, well, they’re certainly going to be furious now.


	5. Chapter 5

The thing is, Obi-Wan cannot remember the last time he was content. Truly content. Complacent, yes. He was complacent with his lot in life, of course. There is nothing inherently _bad_ about being a Jedi, after all. It’s housing, food, reputation. But it’s not…companionship. Not like he’d tasted in those six months with the young Anakin Skywalker at his side.

What he’d had with Qui-Gon in his youth wasn’t quite the same thing. There was always something hanging in the air between them—some small, bitter thing in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind that could never let him forget his Master’s initial rejection. And while that part of him had ached at the idea of being replaced, it had also spurred him, when the time came, to take Skywalker as his student without hesitation—to never allow the boy to feel the same rejection he’d experienced. And what a blessing that had been. Those six months were undoubtedly the last time Obi-Wan can remember being truly content.

But he’s content here and now, the seemingly ever-present tension in his muscles completely unwound. There’s a heady scent in the air that fills his lungs with every inhale, keeping him relaxed, floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness. It’s better than any meditation session he’s had since Anakin went missing so many years ago. He nuzzles sleepily at its source, nipping gently at the bared skin in order to draw more of that intoxicating scent to the surface. The purr that has perched in his chest since collecting his student from the Halls of Healing flows from him in a low, steady rumble.  

It’s only when whatever he’s laying on begins to shift beneath him, echoing his own purr with one of their own, does Obi-Wan realize that something is amiss. He can remember the last time he fell into bed with someone, and it was long before he’d even been granted his Knighthood. He’d certainly never bedded anyone who smelled like this. In fact, the only person who has shared his bed recently has been—

Has been—

Anakin.

Blinking open his eyes, the Alpha finds himself eye-level with the column of his student’s throat. He heaves himself backwards, off the boy, and only manages to keep himself from tumbling backwards and all the way off the small bed they’re sharing. Obi-Wan ends up with his hands braced on either side of Anakin’s head, kneeling between the Omega’s splayed thighs on top of the blankets. He doesn’t remember falling back to sleep after Anakin’s nightmare had woken them, but they must have.

Fortunately Obi-Wan’s startle doesn’t awaken Anakin, as deep a sleep as he’s in, but the skin of the Omega’s neck is still red and raised from the Alpha’s teeth. Kenobi doesn’t know exactly how long he’d been worrying at Anakin’s neck, but judging by the afternoon light that now streams into the room and just how much territory he’d managed to cover, it must have been a while. It might fade before Anakin wakes, if the Force is feeling benevolent. But then again, it might not.

In all the fantasies he’s ever had about finding his lost padawan, he’s never once accounted for this possibility. Never considered the possibility of the sweet, heady scent that clings to Anakin’s skin; never considered the way that scent affects him—draws him in like the most intoxicating drug. Never would he have thought himself compatible with the boy he’d intended to raise as his own.

He’ll have—he’ll have to some way to control Anakin’s scent. If the Council thinks the boy’s status as an Unbonded Omega might be distracting other members of the Order, let alone Obi-Wan himself, it will only be additional ammunition in their case against allowing Kenobi to keep the boy. Scent-masking sprays would perhaps work in a pinch, but it would be best if they could get Anakin on suppressants as soon as possible.

Can the Omega even take suppressants now that he’s had a true heat? The Omega Jedi in the temple have been on their suppressants since their early teens, when they first began presenting in mock-heats designed to prepare them for the real thing. Anakin also would have been, if not for his abduction. Obi-Wan supposes he’ll have to talk to the Healers in confidence about solutions to their problems and pray that his questions don’t make it back to the Council.

The ringing of their doorbell draws Obi-Wan from his introspection, reminding him that there is life beyond the walls of their small quarters. Beyond the door, life in the temple is buzzing, and someone is apparently trying to draw him into it. With agonizing care, the Alpha extracts himself from the bed. Anakin is in need of as much peaceful sleep as he can get, judging by the deep bags beneath the Omega’s eyes, and he’d hate to be the cause of the boy’s disturbance. The doorbell rings again, and he rushes from the room as quickly as he dared.

Taking in the barricade of furniture that stands between himself and the doorway in the light of day is a very different experience from when he’d built it the night before. He seems to have managed to stack nearly everything that wasn’t bolted down onto the pile, from the dining table to the sofa. Upon closer inspection of the obstacle, however, he notices a gap in the pile wide enough to allow himself a view out. He thanks the Force for small blessings.

Peering through the gap, he can see a pair of bright blue eyes, burnt orange skin, and the start of white markings on the ridges of cheeks and brows. “Ahsoka?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Plo said you squared up with Mace in front of a bunch of Healers last night. He sent me over to make sure you weren’t like… dead or something.”

The thing about Jedi is that they’re above their emotions. They don’t allow instinct to get the better of them.

The thing about Alphas is that sometimes those instincts are too strong to fight, and no Alpha responds well to a challenge. Especially when that challenge comes from another Alpha.

“Hence the barricade,” he says simply.

“I wasn’t going to ask. Figured it was more of your weird Alpha stuff. Can I come in? I haven’t eaten yet, and was kind of hoping you’d feed me for coming all the way over here.”

Obi-Wan frowns, leaning back to take in the barricade once again, then over to the doorway where Anakin is still resting. Their conversation doesn’t seem to have disturbed the boy so far. “Can you, um, give me a moment to deal with this?”

“Well, I’m not coming in until you do.”

“Right,” he breathes. “Yeah.”

The thing is, he’s not entirely ready to take the barricade down yet. The threat of the Council still hangs over his head, and even though they could get in if they really wanted even with the barricade there, it does supply some small comfort. So, rather than taking it down, he begins to shift pieces until he makes a hole large enough for the padawan to slip through. He is grateful Ahsoka hasn’t grown to her full size yet, still small and lithe, fitting easily through the gap he manages to clear.

Once she’s clear, Ahsoka waits patiently until he’s finished restructuring the barrier before asking, “So, what’s for lunch?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lived, bitches

In truth, Obi-Wan can remember very little about those first few days after his return to the temple. They blur together in his mind in a haze of rage, loneliness, and anxiety that the thought of even still raises hair on his neck. The healers assure him that this is normal, instinct driving his mind more than rational thought. It is an unsettling sensation, however, to know there are pieces missing from your own mind; to know there are days you'll never know and actions you'll never remember taking.

His first clear memory comes from days later, in the form of a bowl of gruel, pressed into his hands by a healer with a kindly smile. Weeks of starvation had left him with a sensitive stomach, limiting his intake to only the blandest of foods until his system was prepared to handle anything more complex. The bowl had been warm between his palms, the smell making his mouth water despite the relative disinterest of his stomach, and he hadn't thought twice before shoveling its contents down his throat with the voracity expected of a half-starved alpha.

It wasn't until later that he'd realized something was very wrong: when pain tore through the back of his skull, setting alight the damaged bond between himself and his missing pupil. He'd managed to drag himself across the floor and into the 'fresher before the agony upset his already sensitive stomach, retching up what little he'd previously managed to keep down. It was worse pain an anything he'd experienced before—even the brutal, abrupt severing of his ties to his old Master.

He hadn't heard the healer approach, curled over the toilet with his mind on fire, but the hand that gently patted his hair alerted him to her presence. "What did you give me?" He'd gasped out between dry heaves, having already vomited up anything he could.

"It's a bond suppressant," the healer replied, still stroking his hair with that maddeningly soothing pressure. "You tied yourself quite firmly to Skywalker, for all you protested otherwise. We've had a hard time repairing the damage this separation has caused you; it will be healthier for you to simply remove to the bond altogether."

Remove the bond? The thought would have made him nauseous if he hadn’t been already. He shook his head, dislodging the healer's hand, and scrambled to put even a small distance between them. He wanted no part in what she offered.

"The first dose is the worse, but it will get better from here," she'd assured before leaving him once again.

He'd broken out of the halls that night, injuring a young healer in his frantic escape. And while they'd dragged him back the next day, they'd been forced to release him soon after when he stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped accepting anything from them for fear it might be tainted.

Obi-Wan remembers it, though, the aching emptiness of the bond, then, damaged by distance and the meddling of the medication.

It makes now all the sweeter, standing in the kitchen with Ahsoka at his hip, the padawan dicing fruit for their breakfast while he tends to the pancakes on the stove. The bond between himself and his student is warm with Anakin's sleepy contentment, the smell of food cooking slowly rousing the omega.

"How are you holding up?" Ahsoka asks asks as she tips the fruit on her cutting board into a serving bowl. Obi-Wan falters in pouring batter into the hot skillet, creating a lumpy and awkward pancake instead of the neat rounds of the others. He was hoping to avoid discussing the quite literal Sith Lord in the room at until at least after they'd eaten.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, intending to tell her that he's fine, but she's quick to cut him off with a stern look and a raised brow. "And before you tell me you're cool: I may not have known you when everything happened, but I know you now. You're a brilliant swordsman, but you're banned from the training halls; one of the Order's best tacticians, but you rarely see combat. I'm not stupid, Master Kenobi."

He can't hold her gaze, casting his own down to the stovetop as he considers his response. Ahsoka is too perceptive for someone her age; she will make a brilliant Knight when her time comes.

"It all feels like a dream," he finds himself admitting, a flick of his wrist shaking the skillet and flipping the pancake over. It nearly topples over the edge; he has not cooked like this in a very long time. "Or perhaps a nightmare. Anakin is here, but he's not the same. And the things that have happened to him while he was gone... stars, I can't even begin to imagine..."

A hand settles on his arm, startling him out of his wandering thoughts. Ahsoka is staring up at him with sad, blue eyes. "It'll be alright," she says. "You'll see." And Obi-Wan lets himself believe her as they finish their preparations and carry their meal out to the living space.

The table and chairs are otherwise engaged in the alpha's barricade, so they settle on the empty expanse of floor with the food between them. There are meditation mats somewhere, but it has been so long since Obi-Wan used them that he has since lost track of where they went. Tano doesn't complain, happily digging into the provided meal with the voracity only achieved by teenagers and the starving. Kenobi's lips twitch in amusement as he watches her, picking at his own plate.

The sound of a door sliding open draws their attention away from the food, and neither says a word as Anakin Skywalker, still topless and in Obi-Wan's too-small sleep pants, pads hesitantly into the room.

The omega's hair is ruffled from sleep, the bags under his eyes still present, but less extreme. The rest has obviously done him well, there is color in his skin and he seems more coherent, but Obi-Wan knows it will be a long road to recovery. His ribs are still too prominent, wounds not quite fully healed. The psychological trauma will take even longer to recover from than the physical.

His neck is still reddened from Obi-Wan's unconscious marking, some already fading into deep purple bruising. He supposes he could explain it away to strangers as marks left by the alpha who claimed him, but he would have to take Anakin back to the Healing Halls at some point, at the Healers had thoroughly logged and photographed all the wounds on his body before they dumped him in the bacta tank. They will know it wasn’t Anakin’s alpha, which will leave Obi-Wan the only possible culprit.

Skywalker takes in the room, wide-eyed, undoubtedly cataloguing its strange state now that he is aware enough to do so. He had always been observant, as a child. When the sickly yellow of his irises falls on Obi-Wan, his tense posture relaxes only slightly.

"Anakin," the alpha greets, setting his plate and his guilt aside, "You're awake!

“Yeah...” he quietly replies, as though he can’t quite believe it himself. Obi-Wan had hoped seeing the room with a clear head would bring him closure, but he still seems uneasy with his surroundings.

“It’s good to see you up and about,” he says as he approaches the omega, trying to relieve some of his obvious tension. “I thought you might sleep the day away!”

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Anakin’s gaze flickers down and away, his embarrassment and something like fear quickly filling up the Force around him. Anakin had not yet mastered control of his emotion before he was abducted, and clearly whatever training he’d received in the Dark Side had not helped with that. A power fueled by emotion rather than peace, it is no surprise that the boy’s moods come and go with the strength and suddenness of a summer storm.

“Not that there’d be anything wrong if you had,” Obi-Wan is quick to add, stepping up to the boy and settling his hands on his shoulders, hoping to ground him. “You’ve been through a lot; I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Anakin’s gaze returns to his, their eyes locking for a long moment. Obi-Wan can see the boy’s sharp mind working behind them, analyzing his behavior against patterns in his past. Trying to decide whether or not to trust his intention. Now that his mind was clear of Heat’s haze, it will clearly take time to reestablish the trust he had built all those years ago. It was no problem; if he had done it once, he could do it again.

The sharp clearing of a throat snaps them both from their staring, attentions redirected to the padawan seated on the floor just a few feet away. Anakin startles out from Obi-Wan’s hands, having apparently not noticed the girl before now. He can hardly blame him. Considering Anakin’s apparent lack of socialization, new people are probably concerning to the young omega.

He gestures to Ahsoka. “Anakin, this is Padawan Ahsoka Tano. Ahsoka, I’m sure you’ve heard enough for me to know who this is.”

She grins widely at him, undoubtedly hoping to win his favor. “It’s nice to finally meet you! Obi-Wan talks a lot about you!”

“Ahsoka and I were just sitting down for breakfast, if you would like to join us?” Obi-Wan offers.

Anakin, however, has not yet looked away from Ahsoka. His yellow eyes have narrowed, and his hands curl into a fists at his sides. “I’m not hungry,” he spits out before spinning on his heel, stomping back to the bedroom as abruptly as he arrived.

Obi-Wan watches him go until the door slides shut, head spinning from the strangeness of the encounter.

“Well,” Ahsoka sighs when he turns back to her, as though she will have some needed insight on the situation. “That could have gone better.”

Yes, it certainly could have.

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter is already written. Just needs some editing. It will be out later. I need sleep now.


End file.
